


Taken

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables (Dallas 2014), Les Misérables (TV 2018), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon Era, Creepy flirting, Drinking, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras is a pretty boy, Enjoltaire cause yknow grantaire is in this and enjolras has feelings too if you squint, Grantaire has low self-esteem, Humiliation, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Just threatened, Kidnapping, M/M, Montparnasse is a creep, Montparnasse is a dick, Montparnasse is an asshole, NO explicit rape, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Patron-Minette - Freeform, Pre-Barricade, Swearing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, be warned, cause grantaire exists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Grantaire gets kidnapped to try and get to Enjolras.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Grantaire's POV

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one, grantaire's pov

I take another hopeless swig from the bottle, but it doesn’t help.

“I said get out!”

“Gimme a minute.” I slur. “Lemme finish the bottle.”

I try for a smirk at the furious Enjolras, but I’m not sure if it really is disguising my true feelings.

Worthless.

Ugly.

Unwanted.

“Get your drunk ass out of here! I’ve had enough of you for tonight!”

“Fine.”

I let the bottle crash to the floor, and I hear Combeferre groan in frustration.

I manage to stumble my way out of the Musain, only crashing into a few chairs on the way.

I consider my options on the front steps.

I could sleep here, right on the stoop, as I sometimes do.

But Enjolras would see my drunk ass passed out and only get more upset with me.

I’ll head back to my flat, it’s not too far.

My head swims and I sway with every step as I move away from the cafe, and I stop for a moment to lean against an alley wall.

I can feel bile in my throat threatening to rise like Enjolras’ precious revolution, and I swallow it back down.

“What’ve we got here?” A voice drawls, appearing from the shadows. Top hat and voice like chocolate, it’s Montparnasse.

“Fuck off.” I spit.

I just want to get to my flat, throw up, drink some more, and pass out crying.

“Ugh, it’s the ugly one.” He groans. “I was hoping to see the pretty boy.”

I clench my fists and try to steady myself upright.

“Don’t you dare talk about him that way.” I say, voice hoarse from a long day of heckling.

“Oh please, I just needed to speak to him about a little business transaction.” His voice is flowing like ale, God I need a drink.

“Why’ve you got backup then?” I ask, trying to sound snarky, gesturing to the three figures behind Montparnasse.

I’m too drunk to really identify them, one of them is Bobot? Babet, that’s his name.

“The Patron-Minette take our business seriously, and your leader is being difficult about payment on supplies.”

“Not my problem, I’m just the drunk who sits in the corner.”

I try and move past Montparnasse, but stumble and fall against the bricks of the alley.

“He’s close with Enjolras.” One of the guys pipes up.

“Grab him.” Montparnasse says lazily.

“You-”

I try and rise again, but my vision is full of spinning stars, then goes black.

\--------------

I wake up with my head in splitting pain, fucking hangover.

I reach for a bottle that should be on my bedside table, but for some reason I can’t move my arms.

“The hell…”

I blink a few times to try and clear the crud out of my eyes, and realize the problem.

I’m tied up.

My wrists are bound together with coarse rope, as are my ankles.

I’m lying on a dirty floor in a dark room.

Everything from the previous night is blurry, thanks to the drink.

“It’s awake.” A voice remarks.

“Either be quieter or get me some fucking absinthe.” I practically growl, my ears ringing.

The voice moves to my eye level, and oh! It’s Montparnasse.

“What’s the Patron-Minette want with me? I’m the revolution’s resident skeptic.” I ask, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. “Fuck, can’t get softer rope?”

“We have business with Enjolras, and he keeps refusing to meet. So we thought you might be a nice bit of bait.” Montparnasse sneers. “Although why he cares about a fucking ugly bastard like you I don’t know.”

Montparnasse kicks my face, and I spit blood.

“Wrong move. He won’t care about a drunk cynic like me”

He kicks me in the ribs.

“Ya mind not doing that?” I ask.

“Gentlemen, feel free to rough him up as much as you like.” Montparnasse calls. “Just keep him alive.”

He struts away, and, and I see several pairs of boots surround me.

Kicks and punches and I don’t even know what for what seems like hours.

I hear the same old insults, I zone out for most of it.

I really only register when it’s over, and I’m left alone at last.

Bleeding onto the floor, pain everywhere.

I close my eyes and succumb.

\--------------

When I wake up this time it’s to my arms being pulled behind me, and I jolt awake.

How long has it been since I’ve had a drink?   
I hate being sober, too many thoughts.

“What the fuck are you doing.” I ask angrily.

It’s Montparnasse again.

He’s tying my wrists and ankles to each other, so I’m fucking hogtied.

“Your little leader is going to be here soon. Thought I’d truss you up like the fucking pig you are.” He laughs.

My face burns in shame, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Now for the icing on the cake…”

He’s brandishing a crisp red apple in his hand, I don’t even know where he got it from.

It has pretty good coloration and only a few brown spots, which is rare.

“What are you-”

He pries open my jaws and shoves the apple in my mouth, so I can’t even spit it out.

I scream against the gag, my own saliva choking me.

“Shush now, he’s here.”

Montparnasse strolls to the front of the room, cane clicking against the floor.

I hear a second pair of boots and crane my neck, seeing the red tails on Enjolras’ coat.

“Where is he.” Apollo’s voice is firm and determined, thriving for justice like always.

Montparnasse slides to the side, gesturing to me with his cane.

“Problem, Enjy?” He asks, simpering.

“Let him go, your quarrel is with me alone.” Enjolras says, after a moment’s pause. “You-You can’t treat him like this. He is not an animal.”

“Don’t give me the equality of man speech, pretty boy. All I did was treat him like the swine he is. Don’t you agree? He’s nothing but an ugly drunk cynical coward.”

Montparnasse presses down on my head with the end of his cane, and I whimper in pain, the sound muffled.

“He’s fucking disgusting.” Montparnasse laughs. “Covered in his own drool and blood. He-”

There’s the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Montparnasse shrieks.

Enjolras punched him, I’m guessing.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that.” Montparnasse threatens, voice cold.

“I have the francs for the ammunition.” Enjolras says tightly. “All the money you asked for.”

I hear rustling of fabric, probably Enjolras handing over the purse of money.

“Don’t I get a little something more for handing your boyfriend back over?” Montparnasse asks slyly.

“No, this is what you asked for and I provided. Now let me take him home.”

“Such a lovely pretty face…” Montparnasse drawls, and I see their two pairs of boots move closer together.

“Mmnhm!” I try and protest, struggling in the ropes.

“Surely someone such as yourself must know how to put those nice rosy lips to good use…”

I can’t let him touch Enjolras.

“Consider seeing my pretty face as your tip.” Enjolras says harshly.

The boots are further apart again, thank goodness.

“Fine. But next time…”

I can only assume Enjolras is rolling his eyes.

There’s a rustle of fabric again.

“It’s all here, good. You can take him.” Montparnasse says, sounding almost bored.

And blue eyes in front of mine, soft hands pulling the apple out of my mouth and throwing it away in disgust, brushing my matted curls out of my eyes.

“I’ve got you, R.” Enjolras says gently. “It’s okay.”

He cuts the ropes away with a blade, and I whimper in pain.

The beating has finally sunk in, the pain spiking.

“Need a drink…” I gasp. “ Please. ‘Jolras-”

“I’m taking you to my flat, Joly is there.”   
Enjolras lifts me into his arms.

“I’ll have Courfeyrac bring ale for you, I don’t keep any at home.”

He’s holding me so tenderly, as if I’m fragile.

As if I don’t have shoulders too broad, limbs too awkward.

As if I’m beautiful, like him.

“Thought you didn’t care.” I choke out through the blood.

“I-I’m sorry. I do. You’re one of us. You keep me grounded, Grantaire. You’re annoying and a drunk, but you’re a part of us. When you’re sober, you show that you do care about the cause. Even when you’re drunk, you can still make pointed, focused arguments. You drink for whatever reason, who knows. You’re hurting, but I suppose that’s something we can address later. If you wish, that is. Well, we’re here.”

I smile when he stammers, he always rambles in those rare times when he’s nervous.

He lets us into his flat and lays me down on his bed.

His bed.

Enjolras’ bed.

Joly is immediately upon me, spouting medical nonsense I don’t know.

I try and sit up, but Enjolras pushes me back down.

He kneels next to the bed so he’s at eye level with me.

“Rest, Grantaire. You need it. We’re here to take care of you.”

He presses a gentle hand to my forehead, and I can’t help but relax.

“Goodnight Apollo…” I whisper, and I drift off into sleep.


	2. Enjolras' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever, was writer's blocked for a while.

I’ve told him three times now to leave, he keeps interrupting my speech.

It’s frustrating, all he’s done all day is bother me while I’m trying to work.

“I said get out!”

He won’t put the bottle down, he just keeps drinking.

And the more he drinks the more he interrupts me.

And the louder he gets.

“Gimme a minute. Lemme finish the bottle.”

He doesn’t listen.

He has no shame, no humility.

Here he is, plastered, making a fool of himself, a complete mess.

“Get your drunk ass out of here! I’ve had enough of you for tonight!”

There’s only so much Grantaire I can handle today, and his constant comments are giving me a headache.

“Fine.”

He lets his almost empty bottle fall to the floor and it shatters.

And then he meanders away, not even able to hold his balance.

“Why do I always have to clean up whatever he breaks?” Combeferre grumbles.

I continue with my speech, unfazed.

Except for some reason I keep glancing over to the table in the back, frowning when it’s empty.

I should be glad I kicked Grantaire out, he was being annoying.

“Feel guilty?” Courfeyrac asks.

The meeting is over, when did that happen?

“What? No.” I say quickly, sliding my documents into a neat pile.

“The whole end of your speech was the same as last night’s.” Combeferre says gently. “You were spacey. Enjolras, what you said last week, about maybe liking Grantaire-”

“I was drunk.” I say firmly.

“You don’t drink.” Courfeyrac reminds me.

“Well I-”

I never should’ve told them.

It was a moment, one moment when I blushed when Grantaire flirted with me.

And then the next day when he was sober for once and we had an actual discussion about the Social Contract.

But that was five minutes, he started drinking almost immediately after that.

“Get some sleep, Enjolras. We have to be here early tomorrow, I am not losing another argument to Marius. I have some works about Napoleon that I want to study with you.” Combeferre says.

“Alright. See you both in the morning.”

I head back to my flat, trying not to think about Grantaire’s cute little smirk he gets when he argues with me.

\--------------

I get to the Musain bright and early in the morning, already thinking of how to refute Marius’ arguments about Napoleon.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are already there waiting for me, already bent over papers.

“Alright, now I was thinking-” I start, sitting down.

“Read this.” Combeferre says plainly, sliding the paper towards me.

“Okay?” I say.

I look down.

_ Pretty Boy _

_ You owe us some money for the supplies _

_ You know how many francs you still owe. _

_ As a little incentive, I have your ugly ass pet _

_ Bring me the francs please, or I’ll make his face even uglier _

_ Or maybe I’ll see why you keep him around, he must be good for something after all _

_ M _

“Montparnasse.” I say, numb.

“Does he mean…” Courfeyrac’s voice cracks.

“Grantaire.” Combeferre confirms.

“He said I had until next week to bring him the francs.” I say, mind spinning.

I had more time!

I take a deep breath, centering myself.

I can’t freak out, why would I even freak out?

It’s not like Combeferre was kidnapped.

All Grantaire does is interrupt me and argue with me, why should I care for him?

Not that I do care for him, which I don’t.

He’s a drunkard and a cynic.

Who has passion and wit.

Who stands with me and the revolution, who stands with us all.

Well, maybe stands with me more than everyone else, but still.

And it’s my fault he’s gone, I didn’t pay up the francs fast enough.

We needed the supplies, but as I refuse to take any of my family’s filthy money, I couldn’t get the francs fast enough.

“I need money.” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Five more francs, that’s all I need.”

“I can get from my place.” Courfeyrac says, standing up quickly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He squeezes my shoulder, pulls on his coat, and leaves.

“Combeferre, I…”

For once, I’m speechless.

Why are feelings so confusing?

I should hate Grantaire, all he does is argue with me and disrupt my meetings.

But the meetings are always so much quieter without him, my speeches drier.

My guide straightens his glasses and takes my hand.

“This is not your fault.” Combeferre says. “Grantaire is an attractor of trouble, we all know that. And I doubt he’ll cave easily to the Patron-Minette. Probably criticize the way they keep him contained, if I know him well enough.”

“Yeah…”

Combeferre does his best to distract me with political documents, but my mind keeps wandering to the corner, where the pain in my ass should be.

\--------------

It seems an eternity has passed when Courfeyrac returns.

We count up the francs and I tuck them into my purse.

“Have Joly go to my flat, that’s where I’ll take Grantaire. I don’t know if he’ll be injured, but knowing Montparnasse…”

“Go.” Combeferre says firmly.

I nod and leave the Musain, my fingers brushing my purse all the way until I reach the building I know where Montparnasse is to be.

I make it inside, talk my way to a room where I’m told Montparnasse is waiting.

I stare into his dark eyes, his top hat is playfully askew, just like the smile on his wicked face.

“Where is he.”

Montparnasse’s grin only grows wider, and he sweeps his arm to the side, gesturing with his cane to a lump on the floor.

No, it’s-

“No...” I whisper under my breath.

He’s trussed up like a pig, with a fucking apple in his mouth.

I immediately regret every harsh word I’ve said to him, every time I’ve called him deplorable and disgusting and-

“Problem, Enjy?” Montparnasse asks, snapping me out of my abstraction.

I take a moment to breathe, pull my eyes away from Grantaire, bloody and humiliated on the floor.

“Let him go, your quarrel is with me alone. You-You can’t treat him like this. He is not an animal.” I manage to say, trying for the same bravado I usually have when talking of matters of this sort.

“Don’t give me the equality of man speech, pretty boy. All I did was treat him like the swine he is. Don’t you agree? He’s nothing but an ugly drunk cynical coward.”

I scowl at the name, and am about to snap back, but suddenly the tip of Montparnasse’s cane is pressing hard against Grantaire’s skull, and the man whimpers.

Grantaire, who heckles and bickers and drinks his pain away, whimpers.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Even when he’s passed out drunk it’s different.

This is weak, powerless, pathetic.

My heart surges with anger against Montparnasse for doing this.

“He’s fucking disgusting.” Montparnasse laughs cruelly. “Covered in his own drool and blood. He-”

I reel back my fist and punch him in the face.

His head snaps to the side, his top hat nearly falling off his head.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that.” Montparnasse says, straightening the hat and glaring daggers at me.

I glare right back.

“I have the francs for the ammunition. All the money you asked for.”

I hand Montparnasse my purse, as much as it pains me to pay him for doing this to my friend.

Friend?

I’ve never called Grantaire friend.

Yet he’s always been one of us, one of the amis.

“Don’t I get a little something more for handing your boyfriend back over?”

He’s smiling again and biting his lip just slightly.

“No.” I say firmly. “This is what you asked for and I provided. Now let me take him home.”

“Such a lovely pretty face…”

Montparnasse moves closer to me, our faces too close.

“Surely someone such as yourself must know how to put those nice rosy lips to good use…”

He puts a hand up to caress my cheek, I slap it away.

“Consider seeing my pretty face as your tip.” I snarl.

He steps back, frowning.

“Fine. But next time…”

He hides his obvious disappointment in counting the money.

“It’s all here, good. You can take him.” Montparnasse says, tying up the strings of the purse again.

He strolls away, and I quickly kneel at Grantaire’s side.

His eyes are red, has he been crying?

I start by getting the damn apple out of his mouth, tossing it as far across the room as I can.

His hair is coated in dirt and blood, I push it out of his eyes as gently as I can.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are more the ones for physical affection, comfort through touch.

I hope I’m not hurting Grantaire more...

“I’ve got you, R. It’s okay.” I try and assure him, remembering something Combeferre said to me.

I pull a short blade out, one I borrowed from Bahorel, and quickly remove his bindings.

And there it is again, he whimpers.

“Need a drink… Please. ‘Jolras-”

He sounds so broken, so lost.

“I’m taking you to my flat, Joly is there.” I say, lifting him up into my arms.

I expected him to be heavy, but he seems light and frail in my arms somehow.

“I’ll have Courfeyrac bring ale for you, I don’t keep any at home.” I add, knowing it will help with the pain, both physical and mental.

I try not to grip him too tightly as I carry him through the streets, but I also don’t want to drop him.

“Thought you didn’t care.” Grantaire says, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

I thought so too.

What can I say to him?   
Say I suddenly care, like a flash of lightning suddenly struck me?

I’m awful at all of this, the feelings.

Jehan is good at it, I wish he were here.

“I-I’m sorry.”

I’m stammering, unsure of my words.

“I do. You’re one of us. You keep me grounded, Grantaire. You’re annoying and a drunk, but you’re a part of us. When you’re sober, you show that you do care about the cause. Even when you’re drunk, you can still make pointed, focused arguments. You drink for whatever reason, who knows. You’re hurting, but I suppose that’s something we can address later. If you wish, that is. Well, we’re here.”

Thank God we’re at my flat, I really don’t know what I was saying at all.

I see that a few of the group are in my living room, and I ignore their questions as I take Grantaire to my bedroom.

Yes, I could’ve put him on the couch, but it didn’t feel right.

Once again, I don’t know how feelings work!

I lay him down gently on my bed, and Joly rushes to his side.

Grantaire mumbles something and tries to sit up, but I lay him back down.

I kneel again next to him, looking into those deep eyes.

Not hazed over like usual, when he’s drunk, just soft and… deep.

“Rest, Grantaire. You need it. We’re here to take care of you.”

I press a hand to his forehead, once again remembering a moment with Combeferre.

He sleeps as Joly treats him, and I know he’s asleep, yet I stay at his side.

He’s unconscious, he can’t hear me, yet I keep talking to him as if he’s awake.

Telling him it will be alright, Joly says it’s not too bad, I’m here for him, all sorts of things.

And he will be alright, Joly tells me.

Just needs time to rest and heal.

And when Joly is satisfied he’s done all he can, he goes out to my living room, probably to go home with Bossuet.

I stay kneeling next to Grantaire, stroking his hair.

I hum a song I heard him sing once, while drunk.

I hated the song, he was screaming it and wouldn’t stop.

And yet I find myself humming it softly to him as he sleeps, looking like an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might add a chapter three in grantaire's perspective, just to get more look at his thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> what do you think? chapter two is gonna be enjolras' pov


End file.
